by Isaac Asimov
Daneel said, “It is necessary first to signal the individual one desires to view. A robot will, of course, receive the message. If the individual being signaled is available and wishes to receive the view, full contact is established.”
“Are all those controls necessary?” asked Baley. “The robot’s hardly touching most of the panel.”
“My information on the matter is not complete, Partner Elijah. There is, however, the necessity of arranging, upon occasion, for multiple viewings and for mobile viewings. The latter, particularly, call for complicated and continuing adjustment.”
The robot said, “Masters, contact is made and approved. When you are ready, it will be completed.”
“Ready,” growled Baley, and as though the word were a signal, the far half of the room was alive with light.
Daneel said at once, “I neglected to have the robot specify that all visible openings to the outside be draped. I regret that and we must arrange–”
“Never mind,” said Baley, wincing. “I’ll manage. Don’t interfere.” It was a bathroom he was staring at, or he judged it to be so from its fixtures. One end of it was, he guessed, a kind of beautician’s establishment and his imagination pictured a robot (or robots?) working with unerring swiftness on the details of a woman’s coiffure and on the externals that made up the picture she presented to the world.
Some gadgets and fittings he simply gave up on. There was no way of judging their purpose in the absence of experience. The walls were inlaid with an intricate pattern that all but fooled the eye into believing some natural object was being represented before fading away into an abstraction. The result was soothing and almost hypnotic in the way it monopolized attention.
What might have been the shower stall, a large one, was shielded off by nothing that seemed material, but rather by a trick of lighting that set up a wall of flickering opacity. No human was in sight.
Baley’s glance fell to the floor. Where did his room end and the other begin? It was easy to tell. There was a line where the quality of the light changed and that must be it.
He stepped toward the line and after a moment’s hesitation pushed his hand beyond it.
He felt nothing, any more than he would have had he shoved the hand into one of Earth’s crude trimensionals. There, at least, he would have seen his own hand still; faintly, perhaps, and overlaid by the image, but he would have seen it. Here it was lost completely. To his vision, his arm ended sharply at the wrist.
What if he stepped across the line altogether? Probably his own vision would become inoperative. He would be in a world of complete blackness. The thought of such efficient enclosure was almost pleasant.
A voice interrupted him. He looked up and stepped backward with an almost clumsy haste.
Gladia Delmarre was speaking. At least Baley assumed it was she. The upper portion of the flickering light across the shower stall had faded and a head was clearly visible.
It smiled at Baley. “I said hello, and I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I’ll be dry soon.”
Hers was a triangular face, rather broad at the cheekbones (which grew prominent when she smiled) and narrowing with a gentle curve past full lips to a small chin. Her head was not high above the ground. Baley judged her to be about five feet two in height. (This was not typical. At least not to Baley’s way of thinking. Spacer women were supposed to lean toward the tall and stately.) Nor was her hair the Spacer bronze. It was light brown, tinging toward yellow, and worn moderately long. At the moment it was fluffed out in what Baley imagined must be a stream of warm air. The whole picture was quite pleasing.
Baley said in confusion, “If you want us to break contact and wait till you’re through–”
“Oh no. I’m almost done, and we can talk meanwhile. Hannis Gruer told me you would be viewing. You’re from Earth, I understand.” Her eyes rested full on him, seemed to drink him in.
Baley nodded and sat down. “My companion is from Aurora.”
She smiled and kept her glance fixed on Baley as though he remained the curiosity nevertheless, and of course, Baley thought, so he was.
She lifted her arms above her head, running her fingers through the hair and spreading it out as though to hasten drying. Her arms were slim and graceful. Very attractive, Baley thought.
Then he thought uneasily: Jessie wouldn’t like this.
Daneel’s voice broke in. “Would it be possible, Mrs. Delmarre, to have the window we see polarized or draped. My partner is disturbed by the sight of daylight. On Earth, as you may have heard–”
The young woman (Baley judged her to be twenty-five but had the doleful thought that the apparent ages of Spacers could be most deceptive) put her hands to her cheeks and said, “Oh my, yes. I know all about that. How ridiculously silly of me. Forgive me, please, but it won’t take a moment. I’ll have a robot in here–”
She stepped out of the drying cabinet, her hand extended toward the contact-patch, still talking. “I’m always thinking I ought to have more than one contact-patch in this room. A house is just no good if it doesn’t have a patch within reach no matter where you stand–say not more than five feet away. It just–Why, what’s the matter?”
She stared in shock at Baley, who, having jumped out of his chair and upset it behind him, had reddened to his hairline and hastily turned away.
Daneel said calmly, “It would be better, Mrs. Delmarre, if, after you have made contact with the robot, you would return to the stall or, failing that, proceed to put on some articles of clothing.”
Gladia looked down at her nudity in surprise and said, “Well, of course.”
5: A Crime Is Discussed
“IT WAS ONLY viewing, you see,” said Gladia contritely. She was wrapped in something that left her arms and shoulders free. One leg showed to mid-thigh, but Baley, entirely recovered and feeling an utter fool, ignored it stoically.
He said, “It was the surprise, Mrs. Delmarre–”
“Oh, please. You can call me Gladia, unless–unless that’s against your customs.”
“Gladia, then. It’s all right. I just want to assure you there was nothing repulsive about it, you understand. Just the surprise.” Bad enough for him to have acted the fool, he thought, without having the poor girl think he found her unpleasant. As a matter of fact, it had been rather–rather …
Well, he didn’t have the phrase, but he knew quite certainly that there was no way he would ever be able to talk of this to Jessie.
“I know I offended you,” Gladia said, “but I didn’t mean to. I just wasn’t thinking. Of course I realize one must be careful about the customs of other planets, but the customs are so queer sometimes; at least, not queer,” she hastened to add, “I don’t mean queer. I mean strange, you know, and it’s so easy to forget. As 1 forgot about keeping the windows darkened.”
“Quite all right,” muttered Baley. She was in another room now with all the windows draped and the light had the subtly different and more comfortable texture of artificiality.
“But about the other thing,” she went on earnestly, “it’s just viewing, you see. After all, you didn’t mind talking to me when I was in the drier and I wasn’t wearing anything then, either.”
“Well,” said Baley, wishing she would run down as far as that subject was concerned, “hearing you is one thing, and seeing you is another.”
“But that’s exactly it. Seeing isn’t involved.” She reddened a trifle and looked down. “I hope you don’t think I’d ever do anything like that, I mean, just step out of the drier, if anyone were seeing me. It was just viewing.”
“Same thing, isn’t it?” said Baley.
“Not at all the same thing. You’re viewing me right now. You can’t touch me, can you, or smell me, or anything like that. You could if you were seeing me. Right now, I’m two hundred miles away from you at least. So how can it be the same thing?”
Baley grew interested. “But I see you with my eyes.”
“No, you don’t see me. You see my image. You’re vi
ewing me.”
“And that makes a difference?”
“All the difference there is.”
“I see.” In a way he did. The distinction was not one he could make easily, but it had a kind of logic to it.
She said, bending her head a little to one side, “Do you really see?”
“Yes.”
“Does that mean you wouldn’t mind if I took off my wrapper?” She was smiling.
He thought: She’s teasing and I ought to take her up on it. But aloud he said, “No, it would take my mind off my job. We’ll discuss it another time.”
“Do you mind my being in the wrapper, rather than something more formal? Seriously.”
“I don’t mind.”
“May I call you by your first name?”
“If you have the occasion.”
“What is your first name?”
“Elijah.”
“All right.” She snuggled into a chair that looked hard and almost ceramic in texture, but it slowly gave as she sat until it embraced her gently.
Baley said, “To business, now.”
She said, “To business.”
Baley found it all extraordinarily difficult. There was no way even to make a beginning. On Earth he would ask name, rating, City and Sector of dwelling, a million different routine questions. He might even know the answers to begin with, yet it would be a device to ease into the serious phase. It would serve to introduce him to the person, make his judgment of the tactics to pursue something other than a mere guess.
But here? How could he be certain of anything? The very verb “to see” meant different things to himself and to the woman. How many other words would be different? How often would they be at cross-purposes without his being aware of it?
He said, “How long were you married, Gladia?”
“Ten years, Elijah.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-three.”
Baley felt obscurely pleased. She might easily have been a hundred thirty-three.
He said, “Were you happily married?”
Gladia looked uneasy. “How do you mean that?”
“Well–” For a moment Baley was at a loss. How do you define a happy marriage. For that matter, what would a Solarian consider a happy marriage? He said, “Well, you saw one another often?”
“What? I should hope not. We’re not animals, you know.”
Baley winced. “You did live in the same mansion? I thought–”
“Of course, we did. We were married. But I had my quarters and he had his. He had a very important career which took much of his time and I have my own work. We viewed each other whenever necessary.”
He saw you, didn’t he?
“It’s not a thing one talks about but he did see me.”
“Do you have any children?”
Gladia jumped to her feet in obvious agitation. “That’s too much. Of all the indecent–”
“Now wait. Wait!” Baley brought his fist down on the arm of his chair. “Don’t be difficult. This is a murder investigation. Do you understand? Murder. And it was your husband who was murdered. Do you want to see the murderer found and punished or don’t you?”
“Then ask about the murder, not about–about–”
“I have to ask all sorts of things. For one thing I want to know whether you’re sorry your husband is dead.” He added with calculated brutality, “You don’t seem to be.”
She stared at him haughtily. “I’m sorry when anyone dies, especially when he’s young and useful.”
“Doesn’t the fact that he was your husband make it just a little more than that?”
“He was assigned to me and, well, we did see each other when scheduled and–and”–she hurried the next words–” and, if you must know, we don’t have children because none have been assigned us yet. I don’t see what all that has to do with being sorry over someone being dead.”
Maybe it had nothing to do with it, Baley thought. It depended on the social facts of life and with those he was not acquainted.
He changed the subject. “I’m told you have personal knowledge of the circumstances of the murder.”
For a moment she seemed to grow taut. “I–discovered the body. Is that the way I should say it?”
“Then you didn’t witness the actual murder?”
“Oh no,” she said faintly.
“Well, suppose you tell me what happened. Take your time and use your own words.” He sat back and composed himself to listen.
She began, “It was on three-two of the fifth–”
“When was that in Standard Time?” asked Baley quickly.
“I’m not sure. I really don’t know. You can check, I suppose.”
Her voice seemed shaky and her eyes had grown large. They were a little too gray to be called blue, he noted.
She said, “He came to my quarters. It was our assigned day for seeing and I knew he’d come.”
“He always came on the assigned day?”
“Oh yes. He was a very conscientious man, a good Solarian. He never skipped an assigned day and always came at the same time. Of course, he didn’t stay long. We have not been assigned ch–”
She couldn’t finish the word, but Baley nodded.
“Anyway,” she said, “he always came at the same time, you know, so that everything would be comfortable. We spoke a few minutes; seeing is an ordeal, but he always spoke quite normally to me. It was his way. Then he left to attend to some project he was involved with; I’m not sure what. He had a special laboratory in my quarters to which he could retire on seeing days. He had a much bigger one in his quarters, of course.”
Baley wondered what he did in those laboratories. Fetology, perhaps, whatever that was.
He said, “Did he seem unnatural in any way? Worried?”
“No. No. He was never worried.” She came to the edge of a small laugh and buried it at the last moment. “He always had perfect control, like your friend there.” For a brief moment her small hand reached out and indicated Daneel, who did not stir.
“I see. Well, go on.”
Gladia didn’t. Instead she whispered, “Do you mind if I have myself a drink?”
“Please do.”
Gladia’s hand slipped along the arm of her chair momentarily. In less than a minute, a robot moved in silently and a warm drink (Baley could see the steam) was in her hand. She sipped slowly, then set the drink down.
She said, “That’s better. May I ask a personal question?”
Baley said, “You may always ask.”
“Well, I’ve read a lot about Earth. I’ve always been interested, you know. It’s such a queer world.” She gasped and added immediately, “I didn’t mean that.”
Baley frowned a little. “Any world is queer to people who don’t live on it.”
“I mean it’s different. You know. Anyway, I want to ask a rude question. At least, I hope it doesn’t seem rude to an Earthman. I wouldn’t ask it of a Solarian, of course. Not for anything.”
“Ask what, Gladia?”
“About you and your friend–Mr. Olivaw, is it?”
“Yes.”
“You two aren’t viewing, are you?”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean each other. You’re seeing. You’re there, both of you.” Baley said, “We’re physically together. Yes.”
“You could touch him, if you wanted to.”
“That’s right.”
She looked from one to the other and said, “Oh.”
It might have meant anything. Disgust? Revulsion?
Baley toyed with the idea of standing up, walking to Daneel and placing his hand flat on Daneel’s face. It might be interesting to watch her reaction.
He said, “You were about to go’ on with the events of that day when your husband came to see you.” He was morally certain that her digression, however interesting it might have been intrinsically to her, was primarily motivated by a desire to avoid just that.
She retur
ned to her drink for a moment. Then: “There isn’t much to tell. I saw he would be engaged, and I knew he would be, anyway, because he was always at some sort of constructive work, so I went back to my own work. Then, perhaps fifteen minutes later, I heard a shout.”
There was a pause and Baley prodded her. “What kind of a shout?”
She said, “Rikaine’s. My husband’s. Just a shout. No words. A kind of fright. No! Surprise, shock. Something like that. I’d never heard him shout before.”
She lifted her hands to her ears as though to shut out even the memory of the sound and her wrapper slipped slowly down to her waist. She took no notice and Baley stared firmly at his notebook.
He said, “What did you do?”
“I ran. I ran. I didn’t know where he was–”
“I thought you said he had gone to the laboratory he maintained in your quarters.”
“He did, E-Elijah, but I didn’t know where that was. Not for sure, anyway. I never went there. It was his. I had a general idea of its direction. I knew it was somewhere in the west, but I was so upset, I didn’t even think to summon any robot. One of them would have guided me easily, but of course none came without being summoned. When I did get there–I found it somehow–he was dead.”
She stopped suddenly and, to Baley’s acute discomfort, she bent her head and wept. She made no attempt to obscure her face. Her eyes simply closed and tears slowly trickled down her cheeks. It was quite soundless. Her shoulders barely trembled.
Then her eyes opened and looked at him through swimming tears. “I never saw a dead man before. He was all bloody and his head was–just–all–I managed to get a robot and he called others and I suppose they took care of me and of Rikaine. I don’t remember. I don’t–”
Baley said, “What do you mean, they took care of Rikaine?”
“They took him away and cleaned up.” There was a small wedge of indignation in her voice, the lady of the house careful of its condition. “Things were a mess.”
“And what happened to the body?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Burned, I suppose. Like any dead body.”
“You didn’t call the police?”
She looked at him blankly and Baley thought: No police!
